


Consequences

by DearAgony



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adultery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Instability, Normal Life, Princes & Princesses, Soldiers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearAgony/pseuds/DearAgony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamil, a bitter soldier on the losing side of a war that just doesn't seem to end, has made his share of mistakes. But deciding to help a runaway brat-prince in his escapade to save the world? That might just top the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slave Trade](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/92264) by ShadowAuroras. 



Chapter One.

Everyone hates Monday. Monday is the day of the week where everyone returns to work, hungover or not, from a weekend with their families. It's a day that reminds us, as a people, that responsibility is an unavoidable thing, and that we have to suffer another week of servitude to the government to earn our right to act free over the weekend.

Mondays, for me, are drill. I have to drag myself from my warm bed, in my warm house, with my warm coffee still in hand, to the train station; the cold, unforgiving engines just being fired for the day to take me, at 0430 in the morning (which is a ridiculous time for anyone; I mean, what is 0430? Is it morning? Is it still night, because the sun hasn't risen?) to the base camp, far in the northern regions of my small state, to ensure that I haven't forgotten where my loyalties lie, and to make sure that I haven't forgotten how to... how do they put it? Oh, yes: “defend your country.”

I finish my coffee throughout the morning – downing the, appropriately freezing, last sip around 0700. The cold liquid matches the temperature of my fingers as I stand, waiting for my turn.

When I return home, I must begin the process of waking the family. As always, I'll have the house tidy and breakfast, hot, waiting on the table before any of them wake up. The coffee will be brewing and I'll expect the first face I see to be Keisho, their son.

The metal in my hand is colder than the coffee was. I barely feel the jerk in my wrist anymore. I wasn't paying any attention to this task – I had done it so many times it was pointless to keep having me come to these drills. Didn't they understand I was still active? That I still dealt with this on a regular basis? I still hit the target, dead center, no error. They clapped as my hand fell to my side and I saluted my supervisor. Normal day at the office.

The train takes, at most, 30 minutes to drop me back at the house. I'm grateful for these people; they've adopted me into their family when no one else would. Keisho, fourteen and hot-headed, if not a little confused, is the closest to my age. I am a little jealous of him, in truth. I want his opportunities. I want to go to high school and finish my diploma. I want to be normal.

Kimio is the woman of the house. A small girl, in every possible sense of the words. A young mother, a woman barely yet a woman, and a small and insignificant person. She pretended to like me for her husband's sake; he was a man with a temper.

Which brings me to her husband, Mikyaela. He fought in the previous war, and was a hard and thick-headed man because of it. I could see a little of myself in him the more time I spent in his presence. I was afraid I was going to become old and bitter, yet proud, like he was. I found no honor or pride in what my country was forcing me to do, especially considering the circumstances. Mikyaela was Slovenyakkian, as well.

It made his wife angry that we spoke “in tongues” to each other. Being able to speak your native tongue, a tongue that may well get you killed just because you know how to speak it, is a privilege she would never understand. Being Atlassian was easy. No one tried to kill her because of her birthplace. No one raped her mother or beat her father to death. I hate her.

Breakfast this morning would be my specialty – omelette au fromage nestled in crepes. I would like to make no allusions that I'm any good at cooking; just that I know how to make one or two specialty dishes. The rest comes out of the phone books. 

Like prophecy, Keisho poked his still half-asleep head into the kitchen, just as the pot of coffee finished brewing. He took a seat at the kitchen table, bidding me a tired ''hullo,'' as he did. I slid his meal on to the plate set in front of him, then returned a few seconds later with a watered-down version of the coffee I'd just made. He was always worried about his health – watching his caloric and caffeine intake like he was a woman. I was more worried that he was too light for 14. He needed more muscle, but, then again, I was performing much... different activities when I was his age.

Mikyaela was down next. Since his retirement from the leagues, he was more inclined to sleep in during the working week. He had a nice office set up in his den for his home-based business, for which he made his own hours.

“ _Ah, privyet, Yamil,_ ” he said, sitting down opposite his son.

“ _Dobraiya ootra, Mikyaela,_ ” I replied, in answer to his greeting of hello. “ _Kak dyela_?”

“ _Kharasho_. How was drill?” He was always curious. Part of me thought that he missed it; if I found out that was true, I'd have him committed.

“Drill was drill,” I said, nonchalant as I could. What kind of a question was that? He knew exactly how drill was. Too early in the morning, too intensive for the hour it took place, and too monotonous to even ask about.

“Omlettes?” Kimio asked, bringing herself in to the kitchen, and into the remaining seat. I placed a plate of food in front of her (I saved the most burnt piece for her; simply because I can't stand her as a person), along with some coffee in her cream and sugar, the way she liked it.

“ _Nyet_. Yellow pancakes,” I said, sarcasm heavy in my tone. I made no fantasy or games out of my dislike for her.

“Yamil. Be nice,” Keisho said, scolding. It made my blood curdle to have to take orders from a fourteen-year-old, but I simply bowed my head.

“I'm sorry, Ms. Kimio. It was joke, and bad one. My apologies,” I said.

“What are your plans for the day, Yamil?” Mikyaela asked me. I knew why, too. He was wondering how long everyone would be out of the house so he could have his playtime. It was all carefully orchestrated code, and I knew it well.

“I was going for groceries later in day, after I finish rest of my chores. I'll have dinner ready by six,”

“Very good,” he said. 

There is a delicate balance you have to keep in a house when you serve a family. You have to keep each family member's secrets while still being able to maintain eye contact with the rest of them. For example, Mikyaela had a lover I had to keep secret, Kimio had a prescription pill problem that I had to hide from the rest of the family, and Keisho... Well, he wasn't as innocent as he liked to have everyone think he was. Keisho was a forced-rebel; his mixed parentage made him a target, so he had to do things he wasn't proud of to make sure everyone left him alone. More than once he came home and I had to hide his bruises and tend deep cuts from fights.

“I was also going to pay bills,” I mentioned, feeling a flashback of cold hit my fingers. Kimio, who was always too warm, liked to keep the windows open; even in the middle of January when it was too cold for the rest of us. Not even my Sloven blood could keep me warm through that. Hot showers were a type of savior for me.

We heard honking from outside. Keisho got up to kiss his mother on the cheek and give his father a hug. He grabbed his ready-made lunch from me and ran outside to catch the school bus. I cleaned up after breakfast and started on my daily chores.

Kimio left for work around 0900, kissing her husband goodbye before she left. He closed the door after her, waiting a few moments in case she'd forgotten something before he locked it.

“Yamil?” Mikyaela asked, coming in to the living room, where I was dusting the trophy shelf.

“ _Da_?” I asked, turning right into his trap.

I knew it was going to happen, but I was, somehow, still not ready for his lips when they pressed against mine. They were so soft and warm, so very different from everything I was used to, that I stiffened reflexively. His large, calloused hands ran over my stomach as he pushed me against the wall, effectively pinning me there.

His fingers were skilled but rushed as he fiddled with the bottom lip of my shirt. He pulled the fabric up just a tad too roughly, and I heard a few of the stitches tear. He let off at my guidance, and I pulled the red garment over my head, exposing my chest.

He made no attempt at romance or slowness as he dove at my neck, already bruised from this very thing, to add more red marks in a chain across my collarbone. My arms were wrapped around his shoulders and dropped every inch that he did, resulting in one against my hip and the other in his hair as he pulled my trousers apart trying to get at my cock.

“Mikyaela,” I moaned, to let him know I liked it. He scraped the tip against the zipper on accident, but I liked the shock of pain. I was mostly hard for him as he took me in his mouth and began to suck on the tip. I guided his head over, around, and down my swollen appendage, until he became tired of the game and pounced on me again.

I slithered my way down his body until I was face-to-cock with him; I pulled him out to return the favor he'd so graciously just given me. I looked up through my bobbing and noticed his eyes were glazed over with blatant lust. I knew this was something Kimio didn't do for him anymore; my own inclinations made it possible to help him in this endeavor. Normally, I'm nothing if not a top, but, just for Mikyaela, I'd let him fuck me raw. He had a way of pounding me that made me feel more alive than I have in years.

He grew tired of my teasing more quickly than I had. He picked me up and crushed his face against mine as he moved me over to the couch – I realized then how strong he still was. I could only hope to be that strong once I was his age; then again, maybe not, knowing the price of it.

He pulled my jeans down and off me once he had me in a position to do so. I rarely wore underwear, so it was easy for him to throw my legs up over his shoulders and begin licking at me. He knew I was always clean down there, no matter the occasion. I took showers religiously for the “just in case” moments, like this one.

He prodded at me with his slippery-wet tongue for a while before he started adding fingers. I hated the fact that I was such a little slut for him. From day one, I'd just given it up like an amorous schoolgirl on her first real boyfriend; I guess there's something to be said about an older man who can speak your language.

“Yam...”

“Fuck me, Mikyaela, please, please, fuck me, fuck my tight ass, _pazhal'sta_...” He'd barely gotten my name out before I was begging him like a wanton whore.

He smiled, fully aware of his effect on me, before spitting in his hand to rub his cock. Once he was lubricated up a bit, he placed the tip of himself at my boycunt.

“Ready..?”

“Put it in me,” I interrupted, again. He let out a small laugh at my determination before he pushed his incredibly strong hips forward to shove his meat inside of me.

It stung for the first few inches every time. By, the fifth or sixth inch, it was just a dull ache, and by the eighth he was brushing my prostate so fully that I didn't care how badly it hurt. He kept still, allowing me time to adjust to him – I started moving my hips before he did. I was used to his size; the fact aside I liked a little pain with this, so the pause was unnecessary. I put my hands on his hips and dragged my ass on and off him, feeling the friction of his hot dick ripping my insides out.

“Yamil...” he moaned, bending over to kiss me. His mouth engulfed mine, and our tongues danced a passionate tango.

His thrusting was quick and short; spreading my insides until they were ready to burst. The tip of his pretty pink cock was bruising me, and I loved it. I was moaning his name like the filthy slut I felt like, as I let this handsome and strong man fuck me – take me as he should be taking his stupid wife. I showed him just how she and I differed by letting him know how grateful I felt that I had the privilege of his length inside of me, like she never did.

Praise spilled from my mouth with the same urgency that orders did. His hands were on my hips – his wedding ring digging in to the bone on my right side. The metal of it felt like it was searing me, just a constant reminder that he would never truly be mine. I was jealous. I wanted him. I needed him; his strength, his resolve, his problems. I understood. I knew what it was like out there. I knew how he felt, half his head swimming in vodka as he sat on the sofa we were currently fucking on and trying not to break down and cry.

His mouth moving to my collarbone drew me back from my thoughts. His fingers tightly gripped my ass as he lifted the lower half of me off the sofa as he came, filling me up with his seed. He twitched inside of me as the rest of him collapsed over my body, frantically kissing my chest as he whispered lies to me, like how much he had fallen in love with me.

He slipped down after a few moments to finish me off. He sucked my hard dick like it was his job. I pulled out of his mouth at the last minute and came on as much of his face as I could. He took it, smiling after I was done. He gave the command to, and I knelt in front of him to lick each sticky, white strand off him.

“I need a shower,” he commented, once I was finished. I smirked and nodded.

“ _Da_ , as do I. _Vmyeste_?”

“I think so,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to the bathroom.

* * * * *  
I left the house around the same time I had originally planned. I would be able to finish all my chores and then some; still able to keep my promise of dinner at six.

I took the train in to town. I never had found reason to buy a vehicle. It was a waste of time and money to own one, as I saw plainly from the family I lived with. Besides, the train was the most convenient way to travel.

After dropping the laundry off at the cleaner's with a promise I'd return later in the week for it, I headed for the market. Downtown always left the impression of filth on me, although it was never as bad as back home. The slums were the slums, no matter where you were, but the Slovenyakkian slums were a special kind of Hell. Men standing outside of shops, selling guns and bombs to young boys to protect themselves against the constant threat of an attack; women selling their wares and themselves to try to make enough money to support their children; posters everywhere you could possibly look, asking for boys like me to run to their local recruiting office and sign up. It was pitiful. Pointless,even.

I bought a few things for the dinner tonight. Everything was going smoothly until I spotted a familiar saunter out of the corner of my eye – Keisho wandering around the market with some bimbo he'd been attached at the hip to for the better part of two years. He hadn't seen me yet, so I decided to sneak up on him.

“HEY,” I practically yelled from directly behind him, making him and his little girlfriend jump out of their skin. I smirked at the frightened expression she was giving me, and the angry one that followed from him.

“Are you trying to give us a heart attack?” he demanded, sounding hurt and fierce at the same time.

“If you'd been in school, this would not have happened,” I said coolly, slinging the bag of groceries over my shoulder.

“So-rry! I wanted to hang out with my girlfriend. Maybe you'd understand if you ever got one,” Keisho replied, sarcasm heavy in his voice. I laughed at him.

“Girls are no good for you,” I thought back on all the whores I'd had over the past few years. One of my favorite pastimes was heading to the far, far north, back to Sloven territory, and hitting up a sleazy club to pick up Lygan _shlukhi_ on one of their ''peaceful protest missions,'' fuck them in the bathroom, and leave them there to fester. Of course, this had blown up in my face more than once (between ''rape'' court proceedings, illegitimate children that ''disappeared,'' and other nonsense); so I felt obligated to explain to Keisho how women were evil and manipulative.

“Jakkyia's cool, Yamil. Chill out. We were only gonna take lunch off,” Keisho said, putting his arm around her. I nodded cynically, and was about to open my mouth to tell him that he needed to take his little girlie, and himself, back to class before I beat them both senseless, but was stopped by the sound of trumpets.

My head snapped towards the sound, as did the heads of everyone else. The Prince, here? In the slums? What business could the royal family possibly have in the downtown sector?

I grabbed Keisho by the wrist and lead him toward the sound. All I needed was for the guard to catch an underage child out of school in the middle of the day, and my head would be chopped off. I kept a strong hold on him to make sure the assembled would know I was his guardian, just in case anything happened here. As we got closer, we saw guards on horses patrolling the square while three of them stayed in the middle, screaming a message at the top of their lungs. I feared the worst – did Lygan armies invade Atlassia?

“...to whoever finds him, a reward shall be bestowed in the amount of 500,000 _krunds_ , along with the Prince-In-Waiting's eternal gratitude. These are dangerous times and our future king fears for the safety of his youngest brother. If anyone locates the young prince-ling, we beseech that person to notify a member of the royal guard immediately. I repeat, the young prince Shadowen has gone missing from the castle...”

“Such joke,” I whispered to Keisho, trying to get my heart out of my throat. “He probably ran away again.”

“I don't understand why he'd ever want to,” Keisho said, dragging along his girlfriend as he followed me back to the market. “He's got everything he could ever want, why would he run away so much?”

“I guess more money than all of us combined is not good enough for him. I cringe to think what will become of this place if he ever has to take crown.”

“I think the other one, Prince Hikari, would be more of a mess. Then we would all have to bow down to Lygans.”

“I'll die first,”

“You'd be lynched. You and Papa. Probably anyone with a drop of Sloven blood in them,”

“Which is why I feel better knowing that you have your little halfsie ass in school, where you are protected, than wandering streets.”

“Weren't you ever young?”

“No. Now take your girlfriend and get back to class,” I commanded. He shut his trap and listened to me, taking her by the hand as he stalked back in the direction of his high school. Was I ever young? What kind of question was that? I'm only seven years older than him!

Something struck me about his girlfriend. Something was off about her. She didn't speak the entire encounter, and she wasn't built correctly. Not like any girl I'd ever seen. There's some leeway given for adolescent awkwardness, but she's something else.

I shook the thought out of my head as I headed back to another vendor. I purchased the final few items I would need for dinner tonight before I headed back to the train station. I flipped a few coins into the hat of a lonely vagrant as I passed him by; the blanket he had over his head to try and keep warm was in tatters and looked like it wouldn't keep the life in a rat.

I took the train back home without really paying attention. I still had plenty of time before I had to start making dinner, so I threw everything on the counter and started cleaning the house. It was dull work, but, with the help of some loud music, it got done just in time.

I threw all the ingredients together around 1600 (Keisho home safe and having gone to his bedroom to do homework), knowing it would only take about 45 minutes for everything to cook and come together. It was a simple Rintonian meal that I'd learned through my travels; nothing special.

Mikyaela smelled the ingredients cooking slowly over the stove, and followed his nose right down to me. He knew his wife wouldn't be home for at least another hour (sometimes she even stayed a little later at the office; he suspected it was because she was having an affair, but I knew it was because she was too high to drive home by the end of the workday), and had me again on the kitchen counter before his fun was over for the day. 

So it was a bit of a surprise to both of us when Kimio came in the back door at exactly the same time Mikyaela did.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Yamil laments a friend's self-destruction and meets... him.

**Chapter Two.**

I've been in the war for four years now, and nothing I've seen yet comes close to what happened next. Even high on painkillers, Kimio managed to draw blood from Mikyaela and myself before demanding that I leave the house that very instant, and that if I wanted my personal effects I could come back the next day with a police officer to collect them from the front yard.

Long story short, I packed whatever I could grab in the few seconds of chaos and had a taxi take me to Roger.

Roger and I have a strange dynamic. He fought with me during the first tour, and got hurt very badly in the process. He became addicted to morphine after we had to amputate his leg, and when he came back home he couldn't kick the habit. With little morphine available on the street, he switched to heroin.

While I love him with only the sort of complexity that comes with fighting alongside a man during utter and complete tragedy, I hate him at the same time for being so weak. I understand it's a mental illness that he's not recovered from, and that all I can do to help him is support him and try to take his mind off his next shot to prolong his sobriety by a few hours.

But if I'm going to be living with him for a while, I'm going to need to approach this differently. I won't be able to stop him using in his own damn house, and if I argue the point he'll kick me to the curb, as well. So I can't be on my anti-H high horse... Fuck.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you, Roger,” I said, putting my bag down in his guest room.

“No problem,” he replied, eyes slipping in and out of focus. He was already high. “Just glad you didn't... more banged up...” his voice was wavering in and out as he slipped into unconsciousness. He dropped his cane and started to slip down the floor a little, his knees buckling under his weight.

I managed to grab him before he hit the floor. I pulled him up from under his shoulders, and walked him back downstairs to put him in his wheelchair. If he was going to nod off, the least I could do for him was put him closer to the ground.

“Want tea?” I asked, going to the kitchen before he could answer to make some. I waited, briefly, for a reply that never came, and realized that he'd already fallen asleep. I made the tea just for myself, and sat down on the couch to watch a little TV to distract from my thoughts.

There was a broadcast about the missing prince-ling, offering a 500,000K reward to whoever found him and brought him back. Details on the story were, apparently, hard to come by, and no one seemed to know the reason for the absence of the youngest prince. It wasn't hard to piece together, this was something that happened every few months. The boy was a rebel, just like Keisho...

Keisho...

The name hit me like a bullet. I was probably never going to see him again. The thought caught in my throat like the stinging of liquor and I felt my eyes water like I'd been punched in the stomach.

I flipped the channel so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. Roger stirred a little and muttered nonsense, as was typical for him to do. It was a sad sight, to see my fellow squad-mate in this situation. It just made me angrier that this war was still going on. It was pointless to keep going on like this, and for what? Land? Let them have it. Take the country, it's nothing but snow and ice and filth. They want it? Have the Empire, just stop killing my family.

I decided to spike my tea with some rum. Roger had little to no alcohol left in his house, so I'd have to go back out to the market to get some. I took a quick shower (mostly to get rid of the blood and scratches), and covered Roger with a blanket before I walked to the subway station that would take me into town.

I was kind of hoping to see Keisho there. I didn't. As I found the liquor store, I also noticed the homeless man from earlier in the day sitting about seven feet from the door. I was an idiot to think he'd use the coins I'd given him to buy himself a new blanket. I was an idiot to think a married man would give me everything I needed, and that no one would find out about it. I was an idiot to ever sign the fucking papers to become a soldier in this stupid fucking war. I'm just an all around dumbass.

I went in the store and made my purchase. I started walking aimlessly around the slums, drinking straight out of the paper bag I'd been given. I was almost looking for a fight. Something, anything to blow off some steam at the world; at myself. I noticed the street-man was following me, a few feet away, at a steady pace. He didn't look to be drunk yet, but I knew he was probably coming to try to steal my bottle. Probably another druggie looking for a quick fix; well, he'd have to fight me for it.

I sat down on the curb, near a bush so the view was obstructed from the rest of the street. The man came to stand in front of me, but made no hostile moves.

“You gave me money today,” he said, still standing over me. It was strange, because he didn't smell homeless.

“What of it?” I said, taking another gulp from the bottle. The liquid was burning my throat and my emotions, just as it always had, and it felt amazing.

“You're kind,” he said. “May I sit with you?”

“I'm not giving you any liquor,” I said, and he nodded. I gestured next to me and he sat, cross legged, next to me.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from a pair of, decidedly, designer jeans. I had a feeling this homeless man, was, in fact, not homeless. He offered me a cigarette and I took it, letting him light it for me.

“You are a soldier?” he asked, lighting his own and taking a drag off it.

“...Yes. And who, pray tell, are you?”

“A man down on his luck,”

“You speak too eloquently and dress too fashionably to have me believe you're homeless,”

“You caught me. I'm worth 500,000K, according to the posters,”

“Ah, so it is. You're the prince, then?”

“The same.”

“Then I'm the tzar,” I said, falling back on the ground, the alcohol making my head spin a little. This was apparently some mental patient who had escaped the asylum for the day, trying to pass himself off as the missing prince. Seemed harmless enough, though. I looked him up and down quickly before offering some of the bottle to him. He took it, looked at it for a moment, then shrugged and took a sip. He made a disgusted face before handing it back to me, which made me laugh at him.

“It's... not what I'm used to,” he said.

“It's cheap liquor. What do you expect? I'm not looking to drink it for the taste,”

“You seem like the homeless one,”

“Recently homeless, actually. I'm in a transitional period,”

“So you're looking for work, then?”

“I was going to start looking tomorrow, after I clear my head more,” I shook the bottle at him to punctuate the point.

“There's work in it if you give me what I want,”

“Listen, don't make me hurt you. We've been sitting here for minutes talking to each other as if we like each other, and sharing a bottle of feelgood. I don't want to have to defend myself against an insane person,”

“I don't follow,”

“Of course you don't.”

“Are you insinuating that I'm the insane one?”

“Are _you_ ins-insinu... I'm not the crazy fuck sh-saying I'm the prince.”

“Shh. But I _am_ the prince,” he pulled the rags off his head so I could see his face. Blurry as it was through my alcohol-ridden vision, I could see the features of the prince stamped, clearly, on his face.

I dropped my bottle of liquor and sat up to get a better look.

“You, you _are_... Oh, OH, your hi-highnush, I apo-pologize...” I said, trying my best to bow through my drunken state. The vagrant... or prince, rather, shushed me quickly and harshly, and my training kicked in. I quieted myself enough to stare at him as he pulled his hood back over his head to obscure his face.

“What is your name?” he asked, relaxing his posture once he realized I wasn't going to start shouting.

“Y-Yamil, your prince-li-ness,” hiccup.

“Kind Yamil, will you help a prince? I can't go back to the castle yet; I'm not ready. I hate it there – stuck behind gates and bars and walls... I'd do better in a prison. Please, help me find somewhere to stay that's safe,”

“All respect due, your highnush, I can't find this for my-myself,”

“You must be staying somewhere?”

“A-at the home of _mnye tavaresh_ ,” I had to stop mid-sentence to marvel at my home tongue – it must have been made for people who were often drunk, as slurs were built into the language itself. “My comrade from the war,”

“Has he anywhere else? Any shed or basement I could sleep in for the night?”

“For the night? He's... He's... occupied, at the moment. I couldn't ashk him if I tried. He's... drunk. He's very, very drunk,”

“As are you, my friend.”

I sighed, and hiccuped. “If it's on'y one nigh', I can keep you in the gues' room, wiff me. But you 'ave to be gone... by-by morning,” hiccup.

“Deal.” The prince extended his hand for me to shake, and I took it. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I knew this was an incredibly bad idea, but through the alcohol I could not register the full consequences of my actions.

The prince-ling helped me off the ground and gave me a little support as I directed him back to the subway. He followed my instructions to get us off at the correct stop, and I led him to Roger's house. I'd had the presence of mind to grab a key before I left, so I wouldn't have to expose the extra one under the door mat, and I led the prince inside.

Roger was still out cold, even now that two hours had passed. I threw out my cold tea quickly before leading the prince upstairs to my assigned bedroom. He closed the door after himself and turned to look at me, taking off his rag in the process. It was then that I realized he truly was the actual prince; his clothes, his body and the way he held himself, and his face all gave him away. It was the same as in the pictures posted around the town; this really was Prince Shadowen.

“Not to be more of a bother than I already am,” he prefaced, “but could I possibly take a shower? I haven't in days...”

I threw him a towel from my stash and told him where the bathroom was. He was surprisingly quick about it (I was under the impression he would have been in there for hours), and came back with just the towel around his waist, with his clothes in his hand.

I had to marvel at him. His darker skin and straight, jet-black hair was a mark of his mixed blood. He had burning, black eyes with the fire of youth and excitement in them. A man barely in his twenties, he was a sight to behold. His chest was perfectly chiseled from working with swords and finer techniques of combat, and there wasn't a single scratch or scar anywhere on his body. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

“Is there somewhere I could wash my clothes, maybe?” he asked, giving me an apologetic look. He was embarrassed to keep asking me for favors.

“I'll wash them for you. Until then, wear these,” I said, throwing him a pair of pants. He was around the same size as me, maybe a little bigger, but he should fit in my clothes. He smiled and slipped the sweatpants under the towel to put them on, then wrapped the towel around his hair.

“I owe you a great favor. I thank you for this,” he said, taking a seat in a nearby chair. “I have a proposition for you, Yamil.”

“And what would that be, Prince?”

“You mentioned you are staying here because you are recently homeless. I don't want to live in the castle any longer, and wish to live on the streets with my people, so that I may better understand their living conditions to, eventually, bring back to my brother so he can fix this mess. If I were to pay you, and pay you handsomely, would you be willing to help me?”

“I'm not understanding where you would need help, or how I could be of assistance.”

“You could secure living quarters for the two of us, in your name, and we could live there. You could teach me about the lives of the common people, and introduce me to a semblance of a normal life. Show me the ropes, I believe is the expression.”

“And you would pay me to do this?”

“Plus all the expenses for the living quarters, any food we would need, and a vehicle; if it suits you.”

“So I would get paid on top of that?”

“Of course.”

“How much?”

“1000K a week.”

1000K _a week_!? That's _triple_ the amount I'd made with Mikyaela. Just to put up with the brat-Prince?

“Deal,” I said, before even beginning to think about it. If he was that horrible, I knew how to hide bodies.

“Two conditions,”

“Of course,” there had to be a catch. This was far too good to be true.

“You're never to tell anyone about me, lest I get caught and hauled back to the castle before my mission is over,”

“That's a given,”

“And you have to make it so I have the whole experience. That means, while you are receiving pay for this, you won't be able to touch it. I'll have it deposited into an account for you, and you will receive it when our time is done.”

“No deal.”

“You've already said it's a deal.”

“I've changed my mind. How do I know, for sure, that I'll receive that money 'when our time is done?'”

“Paper guarantee, my friend. The way it will work is we both have to get jobs and subsist off of them. Any money we make has to go into real-person problems. I want to live like the people.”

“So, then, we're still stuck. I've no money currently for a deposit for even the shittiest apartment in the slums.”

“I will cover that. You find somewhere we can afford, and I'll secure it financially for a month. After that, it's up to us to remain there on our own merits.”

I thought that over. It would be impossible for either of us to find work. He couldn't, because he was the Prince, and there was no way he could hold a job and have no one recognize him, and me because I'd just been found sleeping with my previous employer, on top of the fact I was still actively serving. It's impossible for soldiers to find work.

“The only way it would be successful is if you could find work from home;” I said, looking slowly at him, fighting through my drunkenness to form coherent thoughts. “No one could know it was really you. You'd need a new name, a new number, new everything.”

“You think this is hard for me?”

“Does the Prince-In-Waiting know what you're doing?”

“Of course he does,”

“So why does he have soldiers out looking for you?”

“That's Hikari's doing. He's sure I won't be able to live on the streets without getting myself hurt, and is demanding I come home to study more. I don't want to – I want this assignment from Rahyem. He has agreed to all of this. I have to smooth out any rough patches that arise on my own, but he'll fund everything.”

I sighed. This was crazy. This was absolutely insane. I would be risking my life, and my honor by doing this.

“Fine.” I said, fishing around in my jacket for the bottle. We split the last few sips between ourselves, and shook hands, sealing our agreement.

I had a lot of work to do in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Based very loosely off ShadowAuroras's Slave Trade. The foreign language used is my basic understanding of Russian, because I have no idea how to speak the language of Shadow's creation. Hopefully more chapters to come soon.


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